


War and peace?

by SciFiFanForever



Series: The in betweens and back stories [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciFiFanForever/pseuds/SciFiFanForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The old Renegade Doctor leaves his other two selves behind and regenerates. This story looks at the back stories and the bits in between the episodes, based on what the characters mention, and the various canon novels.<br/>Thanks to:<br/>http://tardis.wikia.com/wiki/DWU, for canon information.<br/>http://www.chakoteya.net/doctorwho/nuepisodes.htm, for transcripts.<br/>Stephen Cole (The Feast of the Drowned)<br/>Charlie Higson (The Beast of Babylon)<br/>The BBC for creating these wonderful characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched The Day Of The Doctor, and thought 'I wonder what happened next?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has had a rewrite due to reading some more of the BBC books.  
> Keisha Selby is a character from the novel 'The Feast of the Drowned' by Stephen Cole

 

** Dr Who - War and Peace? **

  
  
  
  
** Chapter 1 **

 

 

 

The weary old renegade warrior walked up to the flight console and activated the time rotor. He was now leaving his future selves behind; or ahead to be more accurate. His time line would now start to revert to its original form, and with that would come the belief that he had succeeded in his mission to destroy the warring factions.

 

Gone would be the knowledge that he had saved Gallifrey at the end of days. Certain would be the conviction that he had unleashed the maelstrom of destruction on Daleks and Time Lords alike.

 

With the TARDIS safely in the Vortex, he took his hands off the controls and looked at them, the veins highlighted with a golden glow. “Of course…. I suppose it makes sense,” he said to himself. Around a hundred years of fighting had taken its toll on his body and his soul. But he didn’t want to regenerate; he didn’t want to survive what he had done.

 

What had he done? It was getting hard to remember, the time lines must be correcting themselves. He had saved his people hadn’t he, encapsulating Gallifrey in its own universe. “Wearing a bit thin,” he observed with humour. “I hope the ears are a little bit less conspicuous this time.”

 

The fire burned, but didn’t consume. It was a fire of cleansing, of change, but not of solace or comfort. Would it hurt again, like it did when the sisterhood gave him ‘that’ incarnation? That one not only renewed his cells, it changed his personality. No longer was he the Doctor, the man who makes things better, he was the Storm, the fifth horseman of the apocalypse, the Destroyer of Worlds.

 

The intense golden fire engulfed him, flying from his fingers and running around the TARDIS walls. The large white circles in a hexagonal configuration, contracted into yellow roundels in hexagonal recesses. The whole TARDIS took on a subdued, gothic feel, which matched the changing mood of the Time Lord.

 

As his cells settled into their new configuration, the Doctor was reborn. Gone was the cynical, acerbic renegade Time Lord, born of the need for a saviour who would do what was needed to end the Time War. “Careful what you wish for,” he chuckled to himself without mirth.

 

He had done it, served notice to both sides that he would end it if they didn’t, hoping that his reputation would be enough to make them stop and think. But it had the opposite effect; they intensified the fighting in an attempt to once and for all end it, before he did.

 

And now there were no more Daleks, no more Time Lords….

 

‘No more’. Where had he heard that before? It was like an echo from a dream. He remembered taking ‘The Moment’ from the archive, and looking for the control interface in that barn. He expected there to be a button, a big red button. Yes, there was a big red ruby as a button.

 

How on Gallifrey had he survived pressing the big red button? ‘That will be your punishment’, a woman’s voice had said, but who? The TARDIS? It had to have been, how else could he have survived the holocaust and ended up here?

 

“Why didn’t you let me die?” He asked the ceiling as he collapsed to his knees, “I did what was needed, I don’t need to dwell on it, I just want to die with the rest of my people.”

 

A sledgehammer blow of pain hit his forehead, causing him to keel over on the floor grating in convulsions. His personality was being rewritten, his motivations, his convictions…. His emotions. He pulled himself to his feet using the console, and staggered from wall to wall, towards the bedroom.

 

The TARDIS watched over her love as he staggered to the four poster bed and collapsed onto the duvet. She hoped that her 'old' Doctor was coming back, the one who had a sense of humour, the one who could take a joke. This crotchety old goat never cracked a smile in all the time that he'd been haunting her. She'd gotten into trouble when she gave him an electric shock when he tried to adjust the controls.

 

For centuries now, he'd known that she would always take him where he needed to be (which he didn't always agree with at the time), and not necessarily where he wanted to go. But this renegade was all plotting and scheming, anger and temper. He knew where he wanted to go and he was going there, even if it wasn't the right place or time for him to be. It was the first time since she had chosen him that she had wished for a regeneration, because this 'him' was mean and miserable.

 

She mentally nudged him to get under the duvet, and released some aromatic incense into the room that would ease his pain and promote sleep. She could feel that his personality was being rewritten, and that would be 'uncomfortable' for him. In 15 hours, she would know what she had got, she could already feel guilt and self loathing coming from him, he was going to need all her love and understanding. She had waited a long time for him to come back; she could wait a bit longer.

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

** The Powell Estate. **

 

 ** Saturday 1st January 2005 ** **. **

****

** Midnight ** **. **

 

 

“I'm late now. I've missed it. It's midnight. Mickey's going to be calling me everything. This is your fault,” Rose Tyler said to her mother as they walked across the snow covered courtyard.

  
“No, it's not. It's Jimbo. He said he was going to give us a lift, then he said his axle broke. I can't help it,” she protested.

  
“Get rid of him, Mum. He's useless,” Rose told her. She wanted her mother to be happy. Her father had died nineteen years ago, and Jackie had sacrificed a lot so that she could have a great childhood. But her mum seemed to attract the wrong sort of men.

  
“Listen to you, with a mechanic. Be fair, though. My time of life I'm not going to do much better,” Jackie admitted to herself. She knew she wasn‘t getting any younger.

  
This upset Rose, she didn’t want her mum thinking she was on the scrap heap. “Don't be like that. You never know. There could be someone out there.” She rubbed Jackie’s upper arm and moved a strand of hair off her face.

  
“Maybe, one day,” she said wistfully, and then smiled. “Happy New Year.”

  
“Happy New Year!” Rose replied, hugging her mum. She pointed a finger in an act of role reversal. “Don't stay out all night.”

  
“Try and stop me,” Jackie said with a mischievous grin and heading for the local pub, which had an all night party. Rose went in the opposite direction, heading for the door to Bucknall House. Her boyfriend Mickey Smith was coming over to celebrate the New Year with her, as she’d missed it in the pub.

 

Before she got to the flats though, she heard someone gasp in the shadows. It sounded like he had been over celebrating the New Year.

  
“You all right, mate?” She asked the shadowy figure. She didn’t approach, as she knew she could run to the flats if he was some sort of weirdo.

  
“Yeah,” the quiet, gentle voice said. There was no threat or menace in the voice. It sounded full of sadness and regret.

  
“Too much to drink?” Rose suggested. He’d probably had an argument with his girlfriend or something she thought.

 

“Something like that,” he said.

  
“Maybe it's time you went home,” she said kindly.

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Anyway, Happy New Year,” she said cheerfully, trying to lift his spirits.

  
“And you,” he replied “What year is this?”

  
“Blimey, how much have you had?” she asked with a laugh. “2005, January the first.”

  
“2005,” the stranger said as though it was a surprise. “Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year,” he said with such conviction that made Rose wonder how he could be so certain.

  
“Yeah?” she asked and then gave the stranger in the shadows her beaming smile. “See you.”

 

She went through the security door to the block of flats, and started to run up the stairs. Little did she know, that when she said ‘see you’, the stranger knew that she would… in about three months from now.

 

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

** 48 Bucknall House, Powell Estate. **

 

 ** Wednesday 2nd March 2005 ** **. **

 

 

Jackie was doing the weekly wash when her mobile phone rang. “Hello?”  
  
“Mum?” It was Rose; she was at work at Henrick’s.  
  
“Oh, what is it? What's wrong? What have I done now?" she asked as she pulled items out of the machine. She held one of Rose's top's up and inspected it. "Oh, this red top's falling to bits. You should get your money back. Go on. There must be something, you never phone in the middle of the day.” She rattled on without giving Rose chance to speak; Rose started to giggle at her Mum’s motor-mouth.  
  
“What's so funny?” Jackie asked, slightly indignant at being laughed at.  
  
“Nothing. You alright, though?” Rose said affectionately.  
  
Jackie was a bit puzzled by Rose’s question, I mean, she’d only seen her a couple of hours ago, and everything was fine. “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”  
  
“What day is it?” Rose asked.  
  
This conversation was getting weirder by the minute. “Wednesday, all day. You got a hangover?” Why would she phone her to ask what day it was? That girl had got her head in the clouds half the time.  
  
“I tell you what. Put a quid in that Lottery syndicate. I'll pay you back later,” Jackie told her.  
  
That threw Rose a bit, because in her timeline, Henrick's had been blown up last week, and there was no syndicate, no job. She realised that she was talking to her Mum in the past. “Yeah, er, I was just calling 'cos…. I might be late home.”  
  
Jackie thought that Rose sounded a bit emotional. “Is there something wrong?” She wondered if she and Mickey had been arguing or something, I mean, that Jimmy Stone incident wasn't all that long ago, and there was bound to be some underlying resentment.  
  
“No. I'm fine. Top of the world.”  
  
Jackie looked at the phone with a raised eyebrow, ‘how weird was that?’ she thought. She shrugged her shoulders and continued to empty the washing machine.

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

 

‘Der-der-der-der’

 

Friday 4th March, 07:30, and a hand appeared from under the pink duvet and fumbled across the top of the bedside cabinet, silenced the alarm clock, and retreated back into the warm cocoon of the slumbering teenager.

 

Urgh! That Shareen and Keisha and their “just another one” at the club last night, mind you, it was a brilliant girls night out. Their respective boyfriends were at the local pub, watching the football on the big screen, leaving them to have a night of dancing, harmless flirting and having a laugh.

 

Their nickname when they were out on the town was "The Fabulous Freesome", that was Keisha's idea, and it was a pretty good description. There were three of them, and they did look fabulous. By day, Rose wore hoodies, jeans and trainers, but by night she was transformed. Her mum did her hair, while she did her nails, she had her face on, and she wore her little black dress with high heels.

 

Rose always worried that the mini dress made her bum look big, but Keisha would give it a gentle slap and tell her it looked perfect. Shareen had held up a shot of Lambrusco and proposed a drunken toast to "Rose's perfect posterior". They giggled and knocked back their drinks.

 

Rose had then raised her glass. "To Keisha's brilliant boobs" she toasted, deliberately leaning towards her and looking down her cleavage. They howled with laughter and downed their shots. And then Keisha had raised her glass. "To Shareen's luscious legs". Shareen had got a stunning pair of legs that were long, toned, perfectly proportioned, reaching from the floor, all the way up to her bum.

 

Rose Tyler pulled the quilt off her and slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sweeping her hair back over her head and out of her eyes. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, before pulling her fluffy slippers on her feet.

 

She shuffled out of her bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen like a zombie, unthinkingly picking up the kettle and carrying it to the sink. She looked out of the window at the block of flats opposite, where people were doing the same as her and preparing to start their day.

 

It was the same every day, wake up, cup of tea, shower, get dressed, and catch the bus to work. She reached her own, and her Mum’s favourite mugs off the draining board and put a tea bag in each. Her Mum was still asleep when she took her tea in and put it on her bedside table.

 

“Mum, don’t forget you’ve got Debbie comin’ around this mornin’ for a wash and set.”

 

“Mmmmnn, yeah, okay sweetheart, thanks.”

 

Rose went through to the bathroom and took a quick shower. Wrapped in a bath towel, and with a turban of a towel on her head, she returned to the inner sanctum of her messy room to sit at her dressing table to dry her hair.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror as she sipped her tea. “Hmm, not looking too bad after a night out on the lash,” she said to herself as she put the mug down and picked up the hair dryer.

 

Jackie was in the kitchen, wearing a shiny pink dressing gown over her nighty when Rose came in dressed in her black trousers and pink hoodie. “D’ya want another cuppa?” Jackie asked as the kettle clicked off.

 

“Please Mum,” she said as she put two slices of bread in the toaster, and two on the breadboard to make her sandwiches for lunch.

 

“Are you still busy with that sale?” Jackie asked her as she put the mug on the worktop.

 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe how people pull all the displays about, and then you have to fold it all up again and restock.”

 

“Well, it’ll be over soon, and the extra money from the overtime has been useful,” Jackie said as she went through into the living room and curled up on the sofa.

 

Rose finished her breakfast and came through to pick up her bag off the back of the dining chair; she kissed her Mum and headed out of the flat to catch the number 14 on the main road.

 

The bus dropped her off at her stop that was around the corner from Henrick's, an up market department store where she worked as a stock room assistant. She walked down the street and around the corner, carrying on towards the store entrance on the opposite side of the road, passing an out of place, wooden blue police box in a recess of the building opposite Henrick's without even noticing it.

 

She crossed the road to the main entrance, where a security assistant let her in. She crossed the shop floor to the ‘staff only’ doors at the back and made her way to the staff room, where some of the sales assistants were putting the finishing touches to their smart uniforms. The stock room girls like Rose wore their ordinary clothes.

 

The sales girls went on to the shop floor, whilst Rose and the other girls, joined the lads in the stockroom. The stock controller allocated them their departments for the day and indicated the piles of stock that needed to go on to the shop floor. Rose had been given part of the clothing department again, which meant putting things back on hangers, restacking the scattered prepacked shirts, blouses and jumpers, and refolding the loose garments.

 

Didn’t they realise she was a stroppy, 19 year old girl who didn’t even fold her own clothes. And don’t get her started on neat and tidy displays; her Mum will bear witness to how tidy her room is (not).

 

Trade was brisk that morning, and they had been making regular trips to and from the stockroom. Without noticing, Rose had passed the same man a few times that morning. He had short hair, big ears, and a pleasant smile, that didn’t quite reach his ancient eyes. He was dressed in black, with a cool, leather jacket that blended into the crowd.

 

The benefit of being busy was that the morning flew by, and before she knew it, it was lunch time. She went to the staff room to pick up her sandwiches and bag of crisps, before hurrying out of the store and heading for Trafalgar Square, where her boyfriend, Mickey Smith would be waiting.

 

They had known each other at school, and when Rose had a disastrous ‘fling’ with that waster, Jimmy Stone, Mickey was there for her to pick up the pieces. Like Rose, he hadn’t performed well at school, but he had gone to night school and got his City and Guilds in motor vehicle engineering, which got him a job at a local garage on the estate.

 

Lately, Rose had been thinking about how she had wasted her time at school and left without any real qualifications. If Mickey could go to night school and get a vocational qualification, then why not her? She'd enjoyed gymnastics at school, she could train to be a fitness or aerobics instructor, it would certainly help to keep her weight down with all the chips that she ate. Or childcare, she liked kids and felt that looking after them was something that she could do well. Anything would be an improvement on what she was doing now, even if it was bringing in money.

 

Mickey had a day off today and for March, the weather was unseasonably warm, so they had arranged to meet by the fountain and have lunch together. They were comfortable together and got on really well, chatting about anything and everything (except for football).

 

The lunch hour seemed to pass quicker than the morning had and it was time to head back to work. (What was it about time that made it pass at different speeds?) They kissed and went their separate ways for now, arranging to meet up later that evening.

 

When Rose got back to Henrick's, the afternoon was a bit quieter, and dragged a bit (there was that different speed thing again). A sales assistant named Tracey, asked Rose if they had a certain outfit in a size 12 for a customer.

 

“I’ll just go and check.” She headed to the stockroom thinking 'size 12, in your dreams love', with a smirk on her face, not being unkind, just honest. She came back with the dress in a 12 and handed it to Tracey, who shared a knowing smile with her. Rose busied herself with tidying the items on a plinth display, whilst the customer went into the cubicle to try on the dress.

 

"What do you think?" The customer asked as she pulled the curtain back to look in the full length mirror. Rose and Tracey exchanged glances of amazed astonishment. The frumpy outfit that she had worn hid her shape well, because the dress did fit, and fit well. "Do you think my partner will like it?"

 

"Blimey," Rose said, "it looks gorgeous."

 

The woman turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. "You don't think it makes my bum look big do you?"

 

"Not at all madam," Tracey said.

 

"I wished my bum looked like that," Rose laughed. "Too many chips," she added.

 

The customer laughed with her. "With me, it's chocolate," she confided.

 

"Oh don't," Tracey said, "I only have to look at a bar of chocolate and my thighs put on an inch."

 

"Well, if you think it looks alright, I'll take it." The customer went back into the cubicle to turn back into an ugly duckling.

 

The pace of work slowed right down until it was time to close the store. The man in the leather jacket that no one noticed remained unnoticed in the staff areas as the staff left the store. Rose and a couple of the other stockroom girls were crossing the shop floor to the front entrance when the security assistant held up a plastic bag.

 

‘Oh heck’, she thought to herself, the lottery syndicate money. It was her turn to collect it this week and she’d left the bag with Geoff on the door to get the money off the security staff. That meant she had to go down to the basement to give the money to Wilson, who purchased the tickets.

 

The man in the black jacket heard the doors being locked down and waited, listening with acutely sensitive ears. The store was closed, time to go to work. He quietly opened the cleaner's cupboard and peeped out into the corridor, it was empty. He made his way to the stairs so that he could go up to the roof, where there was an alien relay device that he had to destroy.

 

He started up the stairwell, when he heard a muffled voice calling out from below.

 

‘Wilson?’

 

‘Damn, why do these things never go to plan?’ he thought to himself, ‘no wonder I don’t make plans, they never bloody work.’

 

‘Wilson…. I've got the lottery money.’

 

He started scanning with his sonic screwdriver. It was a young, human female in the basement, and, damn it, the Auton relay was already active. Whoever she was, she was in mortal danger.

 

‘Wilson, are you there?’

 

He changed direction and started heading down the stairwell to the basement, the relay would have to wait until he could get the female safely out of the building. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the bottom and exited into the basement corridor.

 

He quietly entered the stockroom and made his way along the rear wall until he could see the female, who had blonde hair, and was wearing black trousers and a pink hoodie. She looked scared, but there was something about her body language that said ‘defiance’. If someone was mucking about like she thought, she wasn’t going to let them rattle her.

 

That impressed the man in the black jacket no end, even if she didn’t realise she was in danger, she faced it with fortitude. He edged his way along the wall unseen, as a plastic manikin raised its arm to strike the female. He carefully reached out and held her hand so as not to startle her too much.

 

At the touch of her hand he felt it, a tingling up his spine that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was the coming together of cosmic events, time lines intertwining. It wasn’t the Autons that had brought the TARDIS here, it was her. Somehow he was supposed to meet her and rescue her, but why? That question he couldn’t answer, because she was now part of his time line, and that view was now closed to him.

 

Well, there was only one thing for it.

 

“RUN!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Rose has said 'no' to going with the Doctor. What's he going to do now?

 

** Chapter 2 **

 

 

 

** The TARDIS. **

 

** No particular time. No particular place. **

 

 

"Right then, let's have a look at the universe through fresh eyes shall we," the Doctor said out loud. He got a hum of acknowledgment from the TARDIS; she was more than happy with this new incarnation of her love. He stopped and watched the time rotor pumping up and down without seeing it.

 

He was thinking about the Earth girl he had asked to come with him, she reminded him of someone.... Sarah Jane, of course, clever and feisty. His memories were starting to come back now, having been put through the blender and the shredder of his regeneration.

 

Even under extreme stress and duress, she had thought clearly, coming up with a very plausible explanation why a plastic manikin might have attacked her. It was the kind of daft stunt students would get up to, and she wasn't to know that there were aliens on her planet (other than him).

 

Also, she took the fact that the TARDIS was bigger on the inside rather well, better than that useless lump of a boyfriend of hers. When he thought about it, most of the people he had travelled with seemed to cope with transdimentional engineering, which seemed to be a good indicator of whether they would make a good companion.

 

And finally, when he had been grabbed by those two Autons, she had swung over the Nestene vat and kicked one into the cauldron, fantastic. She ticked all the boxes for a first rate travelling companion, except for one, she didn't want to come. To say he was disappointed was understating it; he missed having someone to show off to when he was being brilliant (which was most of the time).

 

His previous regeneration didn't have any time to show off, unless it was to show how many Daleks he could destroy with one plasma blast, and that wasn't something he was particularly proud of right now. Okay, at the time it was necessary, and if he thought about it, he could probably rationalise it as a choice between two evils, but he felt that if he had chosen a different regeneration, he may have been able to choose a different outcome than the one that haunted his nightmares.

 

As he gazed unseeing at the time rotor, the wheezing morphed into the screams of billions of Gallifreyans as their world was consumed by the blast of a super nova. He shuddered and was suddenly back in the room as the TARDIS started to land.

 

“So where have you brought me to this time?” He said, looking up at the ceiling before checking the readouts.

 

“Southampton, 9th April 1912. Oh let me guess, you want me to delay the Titanic from sailing so that it misses the iceberg,” he said, as he moved around the console, taking the various systems off line.

 

“I can’t do that, it’s a fixed point in time. The public inquiries in Britain and the United States lead to major improvements in maritime safety. The International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea governs maritime safety from this point on and saves countless lives.”

 

That made him go quiet again as he thought about Gallifrey and its population. He had taken their lives so that the universe would be safe from the threat of Daleks from that point on. The TARDIS had brought him here deliberately, probably to make him think that very thought.

 

At the moment, he felt like some of the male survivors, who were accused of cowardice for leaving the ship while people were still on board, or the White Star Line's chairman, J. Bruce Ismay, who faced social ostracism for the rest of his life.

 

Maybe he could redeem himself though. What if he could save one person who would make a difference? He went around to the monitor and started typing on the keyboard, bringing up the Titanic passenger manifest. The TARDIS performed a lineage search to each name on the list.

 

He found what he was looking for and a big grin spread across his face. “Fantastic!”

 

He went through to the wardrobe and found a suit from the period with a long frock coat that made him look quite the gentleman. “Mmmm, shame about the ears,” he said to himself as he inspected himself in the full length mirror.

 

Picking up a small brown suitcase, he headed back to the console room, and out through the doors onto the streets of early twentieth century Southampton, looking for a particular family who had four children. He wasn’t going to save one person; he was going to save six!

 

First of all though, he needed to find pawnbrokers so that he could get the money he would need to make his plan work. In the inside pocket of his jacket was an antique diamond ring that he would sell to get some cash in his pocket. Well, when he said antique, he’d picked it up new in his eighth incarnation.

 

He didn’t really understand money and finance, it was a human thing, but he did understand trading and bartering. He could trade the ring for bits of paper with the picture of a monarch's head on them, and then use those bits of paper to trade for other things. (How weird was that?)

  


*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

  


He found the guest house he was looking for and climbed the few steps to the front door, where a big, brass knocker was just waiting to be knocked. The bay window to the left of the door had a sign saying ‘vacancies’. “Fantastic,” he said out loud, fate was being kind to him, and the Daniels family.

 

‘THUNK, THUNK’. He knocked the big brass knocker that was waiting to be knocked, and it made a satisfying noise. He heard the ‘clip-clop’ of shoes on the stone tiled hallway floor getting closer.

 

The door was opened by a buxom woman in a long tweed skirt and white blouse, her hair in a bun on top of her head.

 

“Hello, can I help you?” she said with a smile.

 

“Mrs. Hoskins? I am told by the desk sergeant at the local constabulary, that you keep one of the finest guest houses in Southampton,” the Doctor said with a charming smile. He hadn’t been told that, it was part of a cover story he had concocted to try and convince the Daniels’ to relinquish their ticket for the maiden voyage on the Titanic.

 

Mrs. Hoskins looked at him suspiciously. “Constabulary, what are you, some sort of miscreant?”

 

The Doctor pretended to look shocked. “Oh no,” he said reaching into his pocket and taking out a wallet with psychic paper in it. “Detective Inspector John Smith from Scotland Yard, I’m here following up a lead in an investigation and need a bed for the night.”

 

Mrs. Hoskins looked at the blank paper and sure enough, there it was for everyone to see (apparently), his warrant card from the Yard. “Oh I’m terribly sorry Detective Inspector, only you can’t be too careful with all sorts passin’ through the port these days.”

 

“Not at all Mrs. Hoskins, very sensible attitude if I may say, and please, call me John, Detective Inspector is a bit of a mouthful.”

 

She showed the Doctor up to his room, which was small but comfortable and spotlessly clean. It had a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, and a small sash window that had a view over the rooftops to the masts of the ships moored in the port.

 

“I can see why the sergeant recommended your establishment, very clean and homely,” the Doctor said.

 

Mrs. Hoskins clamped her hands together and plumped up her bosom in pride. “That’s very nice of you to say Det…. John. Evening meal is at seven sharp, and you’ll be able to meet the other guests, a family from London and a nice couple from Birmingham. They’re all sailing on the Titanic tomorrow.”

 

She left the room, and the Doctor placed his empty suitcase on the chest of drawers, before lying on the comfortable bed to wait for the evening meal and his chance to meet the Daniels family. As he stared at the ceiling, he thought about the eight year old daughter they had, who given the chance, would go to school in Boston, and then to college, and then on to Yale, where she would achieve a first class degree in biochemistry and be instrumental in the development of wide spectrum antibiotics, which would save billions of lives.

  
He smiled to himself. That would be a good evening's work.

 

He didn’t need to look at his watch, his sense of time was impeccable, it was two minutes to seven, and it was time to go to the dining room. He descended the stairs and made his way along the hallway to the rear of the house where a room had a number of tables set for dinner.

 

“Good evening,” he said to everyone in the room, “I hope I’m not late, my name’s John, John Smith.” He knew that he wasn’t late, but it was a good way to get a conversation going.

 

“Good evening Mr. Smith, you seem to be perfectly on time,” a woman said, who he presumed was Mrs. Daniels, being as she was sitting with a man and four children.

 

“George Daniels,” the man said, “and this is my wife, Mary, and my children Catherine, Elizabeth, Henry, and Jane.”

 

“Very nice to meet you, and who else are we dining with tonight?” he said, turning to another table where a young couple were sitting.

 

“James and Emily Prentice,” the young man said.

 

“Would you like to join us?” Emily said, indicating a free chair at their table. The Doctor chose a chair that would allow him to speak with George as they had dinner, speaking of which, Mrs. Hoskins entered with a food trolley, followed by a teenage girl in a maids uniform.

 

“Good evening diners, it’s only simple fare I’m afraid, but it is wholesome,” she said as the maid started to hand out the plates of food.

 

“Nothing wrong with a good old British beef dinner,” the Doctor said.

 

“Here, here,” George said in agreement, as a beef dinner was placed in front of him. Everyone started eating, and the room went quiet for a while.

 

“So, tell me Mr. Smith, what brings you to a guest house in Southampton?” James asked him.

 

“I’m a policeman at Scotland Yard; I’m just following up some loose ends on an investigation.”

 

“Oh, how exciting,” Mary said. “But surely that makes you a detective, not just a policeman?”

 

The Doctor smiled at her. “Well, Detective Inspector actually, but I’m still a copper.”

 

“Do you catch thieves and murderers?” the six year old Elizabeth Daniels asked him, excitement shining in her eyes.

 

“Have you met Sherlock Holmes?” the three year old Henry asked.

 

“Children, don’t badger Mr. Smith so,” Mary chided them.

 

The Doctor laughed. “That’s alright Mary, I wish he were real, I could do with someone like him to help me crack this case.”

 

“Are you allowed to talk about it?” George asked. “Maybe an outside perspective would help. I find it sometimes work when I have a design problem.”

 

The Doctor raised an enquiring eyebrow, when Mary answered proudly for her husband. “George is a design engineer, and he has had the offer of a job working on airplanes at the Curtiss Aeroplane Company in New York.”

 

“Airplanes? Fantastic! They’re going to change the world you know,” the Doctor enthused. The children were looking at him expectantly, waiting for details of gore from his investigations of murders and such like.

 

“Oh, right, the investigation. Well, I suppose I have a moral obligation to mention it, as Mrs. Hoskins tells me that you’re all here to travel on the Titanic tomorrow.”

 

“The Titanic?” Mary said, concern written on her face.

 

“Er, yes, you see, I don’t know if you are aware, but the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast had a lot of sectarian violence within the workforce during the construction of the Titanic. Catholics were beaten up and thrown off the job by some narrow minded Protestant thugs.”

 

As he finished his meal, George put his knife and fork on his plate. “What are you trying to say John, that they may have sabotaged the ship somehow?”

 

The Doctor slipped into the cover story he had concocted to try and dissuade the Daniels’ from travelling on the Titanic. After all, he couldn’t tell them that he knew it would hit an iceberg and sink, now could he?

 

“Scotland Yard were approached by the White Star Line to see if there was any truth in a rumour they had heard that a group of militants had interfered with the watertight compartments.”

 

“Excuse me Mr. Smith, aren’t those the things that make it unsinkable?” James asked.

 

“Virtually unsinkable,” the Doctor corrected the claim. “It’s probably nothing, but…. the reaction I’ve had from the people I’ve interviewed does make my coppers nose twitch. It might be that they don’t like talking to the police, but, well, I don’t know.”

 

The room was silent, he’d introduced the seeds of doubt and fear in their minds, all he had to do now was water the seeds and wait for them to grow.

 

Mary was the first, with her concern for her children. She reached for her husband's hand. “George, what if it’s true, and they want to sink her?”

 

George patted her hand in reassurance. “How could a few workers sink a massive ship like that? And besides, we paid forty pounds for our berth; we can’t afford to lose that kind of money on a rumour.”

 

“Exactly,” the Doctor said with a manic grin. “How could a bunch of manual labourers, who know the ship from the inside out, every plate, every rivet, how could they sink a massive ship that’s claimed to be virtually unsinkable?”

 

“Excuse me Detective Inspector; is there a real chance that this could actually happen?” Emily asked.

 

The Doctor wanted to scream at them, ‘just throw away your tickets, and go home’, but then he would have to explain why, and then…. well, time travel was just a story by Jules Verne.

 

“Look, if it was me, I’d sell my ticket and get a later sailing. I mean, if you want to make a point, what a better way to do it than the maiden voyage of the most luxurious ship ever built, particularly when it claims to be unsinkable, virtual, or otherwise.”

 

He looked at the young couple and recalled the information the TARDIS had shown him. James Prentice worked in finance and was heading for the New York stock market, where he becomes a successful trader. His wife Emily, is a trained secretary, and becomes his personal assistant, before the days when they had personal assistants.

 

They have three children, and live a long and prosperous life. They survive the sinking without him interfering. James is a weekend sailor and his skill with boats gets him a seat on one of the lifeboats with his wife. The Doctor inwardly smiled at the irony of a man from Birmingham, a hundred miles from the coast, being a sailor. But the river Avon at Stratford has a very popular boating marina, and sailing a small boat was just the skill James needed.

 

“Well, even if she does sink,” James said, “they’ll have lifeboats, and I hear they have the most sophisticated radios onboard. I bet you could literally step from the Titanic to a rescue ship without getting your feet wet.” He stood and held his hand out for his wife. “And if you will excuse us, I’m taking my wife for an evening of dancing at the local dance hall.”

 

They left to a chorus of goodbyes, which left the Doctor and the Daniels’ in the room. He could see that Mary was unhappy about the latest developments.

 

“George, what do you think, I mean could we trade the tickets for a later sailing?”

 

“What, on the evening before she sails? I doubt it.”

 

Mary looked at the Doctor. “What would you do Detective Inspector, I mean, if it was your family?”

 

‘If it was my family?’ he thought to himself. ‘I burned any family I had, in a war to end all wars’.

 

Mary saw the look that came upon the Doctor’s face; she’d seen it before when she was a nurse, on the faces of the men coming back from the Boer War. “Oh John, I’m sorry. What happened to your family?”

 

The Doctor had let his mask of invulnerability slip, and was amazed at her perception, the years of nursing must have given her the ability to read her patients and empathise with them. George, on the other hand, hadn’t got a clue what she was on about.

 

“Mary?” he asked.

 

“This poor man has had a tragedy in his life, it’s written all over his face.”

 

The Doctor nodded in agreement. How long had it been, a few days, a few years, a few centuries? It was difficult to tell when time didn’t travel in a linear fashion for you. “Yes, I had a family, and I couldn’t save them. And if I had my time again, I would do anything to change that.”

 

“And you carry that guilt with you, don’t you?” Mary said.

 

“Yes, I do, but there is something I can do now that I couldn’t do then, I can make a difference.” He reached inside his jacket, took out a wallet, and turned to George. “Forty pounds you said? I have an expenses account for my investigation. Let me buy your ticket and I can travel aboard the Titanic and continue my investigation.”

 

George looked stunned. “But…. won’t that put you in danger if you are right?”

 

“Nah, not me. Danger’s a constant companion, we’re old friends. And if I’m right, I can try and make a difference, and if I should die, well, I’ll be reunited with my family again.”

 

“Oh John, that is such a kind offer, what can we say?”

 

The Doctor switched on his manic grin, his plan had worked. “You can say yes. Titanic’s sister ship, the RMS Olympic is just as luxurious, and she’ll be coming into port in a few days. The tickets will be cheaper, and the extra money will pay for your rooms here until she docks.”

 

“God bless you, we will pray for you at church on Sunday,” Mary told him.

 

The Doctor smiled at her, “Thank you that means a lot to me.”

 

Humans! The compassion and empathy they had for complete strangers never failed to amaze him.

 

“It’s a shame that we won’t be on the maiden voyage, but you never know, when I’ve made my fortune in America, we can have a first class berth on the Titanic when we come back to visit.”

 

‘I wouldn’t hold your breath’, the Doctor thought to himself.

 

“Mr. Smith, we were going to have a commemorative photograph taken tomorrow before we sailed. We would be honoured if you would be in that photograph,” George said.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not much for having my photo taken,” he told them.

 

“Please,” Mary pleaded, “it will be something we can tell our children, and their children, that a detective from Scotland Yard, in the middle of an investigation, warned us of a possible threat to the greatest ship ever built.”

 

“Oh go on then, I don’t suppose one photo will hurt.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (To the tune of the Kylie Minogue song) He just can't get her out of his head. Another visit to a young Rose Tyler, and another sighting for the conspiracy web site.

 

** Chapter 3 **

 

 

 

The Doctor stood at the console as the time rotor pumped up and down, looking over the information displayed on the monitor. He had done it, he had saved a family, and it felt good. George Daniels went on to become an aircraft engineer, whilst Mary worked at a local health centre as a nurse.

 

Their daughter, Catherine became a biochemist and worked on the development of antibiotics, which had already been discovered, so there was no paradox involved. Their other children grew up to live their lives, without making an appreciable effect on the timeline; so again, there was no paradox, and no wound in time to be healed.

 

James and Emily, having had the conversation about the possibility of the Titanic sinking, had been the first to the lifeboats, and had encouraged many people to join them, saving many lives that may have been lost. But they had done that anyway, so the timeline was unaffected by their actions.

 

“Thanks for that old girl; it was good to save people rather than having to fight them.” The TARDIS hummed a ‘you’re welcome’ in his head. All he needed to do now was find someone to share it with. His thoughts went back to that feisty blonde from the Powell Estate in Peckham.

 

Jericho Street Junior School under 7s gymnastic team, she’d said when she grabbed that chain and swung over the Nestene vat. He went to the display screen and called up her information. Born in April 1987, that would make it 1993-ish when she would get the bronze. If he was careful, and stayed out of the way….

 

 

** Jericho ** ** Street ** ** Junior ** ** School ** **. **

 

** Peckham,  ** ** London ** **. **

 

** October, 1993 **

 

 

The blank piece of paper the headmistress was looking at, told her that the man in the rather nice leather jacket was a talent scout for the UK National Governing Body for the sport of Gymnastics.

 

“We visit schools when they have competitions and look at the medal winners,” the Doctor told her. “We like to catch the kids as young as possible and try and nurture their talent.”

 

“Oh, it’s wonderful to think that some of these children, who are underprivileged, will have the chance to shine,” the headmistress enthused.

 

“Well, your under sevens here today would be suitable to compete in the 2004 Olympic games. I’ll just stay in the background and observe if that’s alright?”

 

“Yes, of course Mr. Smith. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Warner, the P.E teacher here at the school, he’ll find you a spot where you can sit and observe.”

 

After meeting the P.E teacher, and finding a seat at the back of the gymnasium, the Doctor settled down and waited for a six year old Rose Tyler to perform her floor exercise. He had spotted Jackie on one of the bench seats near the front, who was talking with some of the other parents in between the demonstrations.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next gymnast is…. Rose Tyler,” the headmistress announced.

 

There was polite applause as a young slip of a girl with light brown hair in a ponytail, wearing a blue leotard, stood up from the line of children and stepped onto the mat. You could tell from her face and body language that she was nervous.

 

“C’mon Sweetheart, you show ‘em ‘ow it’s done,” Jackie said, which got a laugh from the other parents. They knew what it was like to be proud of your offspring, and most of them knew the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the Tyler's, with the death of Rose’s father not long after she was born. And they all had to take their hats off to Jackie Tyler; she’d done a good job raising Rose into a smart, confident young lady.

 

The Doctor leaned forward on the seat and watched with interest as the tiny Rose started her routine. She did forward rolls; back flips, somersaults, and splits as she moved around the mat area. He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms, and had an enormous grin on his face. She was good. She was obviously nervous doing this in front of a crowd, and made a couple of errors, but on the whole, she was…. fantastic.

 

She finished her routine to applause, and whistles from her mum, and had that unmistakable ‘Rose’ smile on her face that lit up the room. The Doctor was still grinning; he remembered her giving him that cheeky smile on The Embankment, when she’d spotted the Nestene transmitter.

 

When all the children had performed their sets, it was time to award the medals. A set of wooden boxes of different heights were brought onto the mat area, and the headmistress stood in front with a sheet of paper.

 

“I think we can agree that all the children are winners today for coming out here and showing us their skill.” The parents applauded in agreement. “However, there were three children that demonstrated that little bit extra talent that should not go unrecognised. In third place, winning the bronze is….” The headmistress did a dramatic pause. “Rose Tyler.”

  
The parents applauded as Jackie shouted, “Go on my gal.” The Doctor laughed at Jackie’s obvious pride and joy for her daughter. He stood and quietly left the gym and the school, trying to think of a way to convince the 19 year old version to come with him.

 

 

** Sebesi Island, 8 miles north of Krakatoa.  **

 

** Sunda ** ** Strait ** **. **

 

** August 26, 1883 ** **.  **

 

 

The Doctor walked along the beach towards the settlement of wooden huts and fishing boats. He’d parked the TARDIS around a promontory in between some rocky outcrops, out of sight from prying eyes. There was a woman sitting on a wicker chair with a drawing pad on her lap, sketching the rumbling volcano across the Sunda Strait to the south.

 

“You’re new,” she said as the Doctor walked by. “You must have arrived on the supply ship this morning.”

 

The Doctor turned to look at the artist, putting his hands in the white linen jacket that he had chosen to wear as a ‘blending in’ outfit, along with a white ‘T’ shirt, linen trousers and plimsolls. She was wearing a long white skirt, white blouse, and a wide brimmed straw hat.

 

“You’re observant,” he said with a smile, “but I came in my own vessel.”

 

“Being observant goes with the job,” she said, lifting her head to look from under the brim of the hat. “Ooh, hold that pose,” she said as she flipped the paper and started sketching.

 

He had to do a double take when he saw her face, she was the spitting image of a young, Lauren Bacall. “Does your observation extend to knowing the whereabouts of Rogier Diederik Marius Verbeek by any chance?”

 

“What, the geologist and natural scientist?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

 

“Never heard of him,” she said with a mischievous grin.

 

She even had the sassy attitude. “Hah! Nice one, I’m the Doctor by the way.”

 

“Helena de Bray…. Doctor who?”

 

“Just the Doctor. So, Rogier, is he around?”

 

The woman gave a sexy laugh. “You’ve missed him by a couple of days, he went back to his home in Buitenzorg on Java to write up his journal, and watch Krakatoa over there, he reckons it’s about to have a big eruption.”

 

The Doctor turned to look over his shoulder at the smoke and gases rising 17 miles into the sky from the caldera. “I reckon he’s right,” he said, turning back to see her showing him the sketch that would find it’s way onto a conspiracy website, 120 years in the future.

 

“That’s very good, I’d bet if you did that in the West End of London in a hundred years time, you’d make a fortune.”

 

She laughed that sexy laugh again. “What an odd thing to say, but there again, I like odd.” She stood and picked up her bag, putting her sketch pad and pencils inside. “Come on Doctor Odd, I’ll let you buy me a drink, there’s this little place I know in town.”

 

The Doctor laughed. “You mean the only tavern on the island?”

 

“Oh, you’ve heard of it then?” she said, laughing with him. She took his arm and they walked off the beach towards the village.

 

“So, Miss de Bray, I see you are an artists, but what are you doing on this little island, next to a volcano that’s about to wake up?” he asked her as they walked up the beach.

 

“A couple of years ago, Rogier did a survey of Krakatoa for the Dutch East India Company, I was hired to sketch the terrain and topography for his report, and I’ve been working with him ever since. And what about you Doctor, what brings you here?”

 

“Oh, just curiosity. I’m a traveller, and I heard that Krakatoa was waking up.” They reached the wooden shack that served as a tavern, and he held the door open for her.

 

“Miss Helena, good to see you,” the bartender said as they approached the bar.

 

“Hi Philippe, I’ll have a beer please,” she said as she sat on a stool at the bar.

 

“And your gentleman friend?”

 

“Hello, I’m the Doctor, and yeah, a beer sounds good,” the Doctor said.

 

Philippe lifted two bottles from under the counter and took the tops off with a bottle opener. “You want a glass with yours,” he asked the Doctor, as Helena took a swig out of the bottle.

 

The Doctor shook his head and regarded the woman with a raised eyebrow, for the late 19th century, this woman didn’t act like any woman he’d met from this time period.

 

"You're a most unusual woman," the Doctor said with a smile. "Not as genteel as other women I've met.

 

Helena gave a single laugh. "I'm Dutch; I have five brothers, and liberal parents."

 

The Doctor held up his bottle of beer in salute, and they clinked them together. "So, are you going to be up early in the morning to watch the fireworks?"

 

"What makes you think it will be tomorrow?" she asked. “It’s been ‘steaming’ now for months, and the last couple of days it’s been ‘banging’ every 10 minutes.”

 

"Trust me, I'm a doctor," he replied with a lopsided smile. "At 05:30 tomorrow morning, Perboewatan volcano, on Krakatoa will erupt, triggering a tsunami that will head straight for this island and on to Telock Botong."

 

"That's very specific information," she said suspiciously.

 

"Are we in danger?" Philippe asked nervously.

 

“Oh come on Philippe, no one can know when it’s going to erupt. Like I said, it’s been rumbling and throwing steam up into the air now since May,” she said.

 

The Doctor had a serious look on his face which carried the conviction and certainty of his words. "At 06:44, Danan volcano also on Krakatoa will explode, with a resulting tsunami stretching eastward and westward. The largest explosion, will be at 10:02, and will be so violent that it will be heard 1,930 miles away in Perth, Western Australia."

 

Helena was silent for a while and then laughed. "You had me going there for a minute, but even Rogier doesn't know when it will erupt, and he's one of the leading authorities on the Krakatoa volcano."

 

"All I'm saying, is get to high ground in the morning, take your sketchbook, and prove me wrong. Oh, and take as many people with you that you can convince to go."

 

"You are a most unusual man, Doctor. Your Dutch is excellent...." He raised his bottle and eyebrows to accept the compliment. ".... But you talk about things as though they have already happened for you."

 

"But that's impossible, isn't it?" he said enigmatically. He finished his beer and put the empty bottle on the counter. "Right, I'm off to Buitenzorg to see a man about a volcano. Don’t forget, 05:30, high ground." With that he stood and walked out of the shack, leaving a stunned artist and bartender behind.

 

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

Knock-knock.

 

The Doctor knocked on the door of Verbeek’s house. It was five in the morning, and the orange light of the early morning sun cast long shadows as he looked out over the town. He heard footsteps padding down the hallway to the door, and a muttering of ‘who the hell could that be at this time of the morning’.

 

A fair haired man in his late thirties, wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown, opened the door and poked his head out. The Doctor gave him a cheery smile. “Hello, I’m the Doctor. Would you be the renowned geologist Rogier Diederik Marius Verbeek by any chance?”

 

“Renowned geologist,” Verbeek said, surprised by the compliment. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s me…. Doctor who?”

 

“Just the Doctor. You might want to get dressed, it’s going to be a busy day for you,” he said as he pushed past Verbeek into the hallway. “Fancy a cup of tea? We’ve got time before it all kicks off. Or do the Dutch drink coffee? We’ve got time for one of those as well if you’d like.”

 

A flustered Verbeek followed him down the hallway to the kitchen. “What the devil is going on?”

 

The Doctor turned and gave him a manic grin. “You not dressed yet? You’d better hurry or you’ll miss it.”

 

“Miss what?” Verbeek demanded.

 

“Miss what? Miss the thing that you’ve been studying for the last three years, that’s what.” The doctor filled the copper kettle with water and put it on the stove. “In ten minutes, Perboewatan volcano will blow itself apart. 1 hour and 44 minutes later, Danan volcano will erupt, and 3 hours 18 minutes after that will be an explosion so powerful, it will be heard 1,930 miles away in Perth, Western Australia, and 3,000 miles away on the Indian  Ocean island of Rodrigues near Mauritius.”

 

“But how…?” Verbeek started to ask.

 

“How do I know this? Because I’m the Doctor…. And you’re a geologist who is going to be very disappointed if you don’t get some clothes on and go and watch it happen.”

 

The Doctor found a percolator and a caddy with ground coffee in it and started to make a pot of coffee, while Verbeek went to get dressed. When he came back, he was dressed in khaki trousers and white shirt. The Doctor handed him a cup of coffee as he came into the kitchen.

 

“So, where’s the best place to view Krakatoa then?” The Doctor asked him.

 

“Well, the balcony upstairs is as good a place as any,” Verbeek replied.

 

“Lead on then, oh, and bring your journal, you might want to take notes.”

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Verbeek asked in disbelief.

 

“Yes, I’m afraid I am. Each explosion will create a large tsunami over 100 feet high. A large area of the SundaStrait and a number of places on the Sumatran coast will be affected by pyroclastic flows,” the Doctor told him as he followed Verbeek up the stairs.

 

“Pyroclastic flow?” Verbeek asked.

 

The Doctor realised that the term ‘pyroclastic flow’, wouldn’t be used for another 30 years. “Er, yeah, a pyroclastic density current, is a fast-moving current of hot gas and rock, which reaches speeds moving away from a volcano of up to 450 miles an hour, and can reach temperatures of about 1,000 °C.”  

 

“So you are a doctor of geology then, which university are you from?” Verbeek asked as they stepped onto the balcony and sat on a wicker seat.

 

“No, I don’t have a doctorate in geology, but my physics doctorate does give me an interest in the mechanics of a volcanic eruption, and I’ve got a feeling that your observations today will start a whole new area of scientific investigation.” The Doctor nodded his head towards Krakatoa, and Verbeek saw a column of steam, smoke and ash shoot up into the sky, with an orange-red glow at its base. The ejection dwarfed any that were there already.

 

“Oh my word,” is all he could manage to say.

 

Eight minutes later, the percussive sound wave had travelled the hundred mile distance and hit Buitenzorg, rattling the windows behind Verbeek and the Doctor. The geologist was writing furiously, recording his observations against the time on his watch.

 

1 hour, 36 minutes after the first explosion, they saw the dome of a pressure wave move through the column of ash, which now reached 20,000 feet into the sky. Eight minutes later, they thought the windows would shatter with the force of the blast.

 

Verbeek looked at the Doctor with raised eyebrows, questioning whether the windows would survive another hit.

 

“In another 3 hours and 18 minutes, we’ll find out. I’d open all your doors and windows if I was you, they can be closed after to keep the ash out,” the Doctor told him.

 

“Good idea…. But tell me Doctor, how can you know this with such accuracy? It’s as if you already know what’s going to happen.”

 

“Yeah, it does seem like that doesn’t it? Helena said the same yesterday.” He suddenly thought about the illustrator on the tiny island, eight miles from ground zero, he hoped she had taken his advice.

 

The Doctor waited until it was 10:10, local time, when the last, and most powerful eruption ever recorded on scientific equipment occurred. Opening the windows and doors was a wise precaution, as Verbeek’s neighbours windows shattered from a blast that shook the house.

 

“Whoo,” the Doctor said, tugging the cuffs of his linen jacket and straightening his lapels. “Well, that’s my sightseeing done then.” He stood and held out his hand for Verbeek, he nearly said ‘it’s been a blast’, but caught himself in time. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you Mr. Verbeek; I look forward to reading your journal when it’s published.”

 

“Published? Er, right, yes, good idea. It was fascinating to meet you too Doctor.”

 

In the TARDIS, the Doctor checked the recorded history on the monitor. He found what he was looking for, and his hearts sank, the ash, cinders, and tsunami overwhelmed the small island of Sebesi. Although there was no official census, it was thought that there were 3,000 people on the island, 1,000 of them Europeans, and none survived.

 

Wait a minute though, how did the sketch of him get onto a web site in the 21st century.  He started searching deeper in the records, until he found something that made him smile, it was the personal diary of one Philippe Pascal, a one time bar keeper of a small tavern on a small island.

 

It turned out that he had a very strong survival instinct, Helena called it cowardice, but whatever it was, it worked. From what the Doctor could make out, after he left the tavern, Philippe started badgering Helena to get the next boat to Jakarta, just for a little sightseeing trip, and she could deliver her sketches to Rogier Verbeek for safe keeping (just in case that Doctor fellow was right).

 

When the captain and crew of a steamship came into the tavern for a drink, Philippe told him what the Doctor had said, and the captain agreed to give them passage to Jakarta. They left port that evening, and at 05:30 the next morning, the swell of the tsunami passed harmlessly underneath them. Some of the fishermen had taken their families with them that morning, and never returned to the island.

 

He read a passage from the diary. ‘A mysterious stranger appeared on the island, calling himself the Doctor. He predicted the eruption of the volcanoes on Krakatoa with an accuracy that was truly astounding. So certain was he of this prediction, that I was compelled to believe him and made arrangements to travel to Java for a few days as a precaution. I am indebted to this stranger for saving not only my life, but that of my new fiancée, Miss de Bray, and a number of fishermen’s families.’

  
“I knew those two had something going on,” he said to himself, “so something good came out of all that disaster.”

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More conspiracies and sightings of the Doctor in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter contains real events and real people, and I have tried to write it with the greatest of respect to those involved. Apologies to anyone who feels that this is inappropriate.)

 

** Chapter 4 **

  


 

Jackie Tyler was walking down Peckham High Road, holding the hand of her 12 year old daughter Rose. It was mid December, and it was raining a cold, sleety rain.

 

"Look Mum, that's like the bike Shareen's havin' for Christmas," Rose said, with a hint of 'can I have one as well', in her voice.

 

Jackie stopped and looked at the red girl's bike in the shop window. Looking wouldn't hurt, because she knew she couldn't afford it.

 

"It's a nice bike Sweetheart, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait until I can afford it." Rose's face fell, an expression of disappointment replaced the hopeful smile. "I mean, both Shareen's parents are workin', they can afford things like that. I've been payin' into the Christmas club for your presents, but I've also got to pay the bills, buy food, and don't get me started on the price of the school uniforms."

 

Rose wasn't going to plead or throw a tantrum, she wasn't like that, and she knew that her Mum did the best for her, working all hours doing the hairdressing on the estate. If only her Dad was here to make things right, but he'd died just after she was born and she never knew him.

 

It didn’t mean that she didn’t know him though, because three times a year her Mum would get out the photo album, pour a drink, and tell Rose all about him. One day would be his birthday, the second would be their wedding anniversary, and the third was…. well, that day. Rose never tired of hearing the same tales over and over again; it was her only connection to her father.

 

"Yeah, okay," she said disappointedly turning away from the object of her desire and nearly bumping into a man who was also looking at the bikes in the window. He had a thick, winter coat on with the hood up against the rain, the fur rim hiding his face.

 

"Oh, sorry luv," Jackie said as she manoeuvred around him.

 

"No problem," the stranger said, in a friendly, northern accent. As Jackie and Rose continued along the street, the stranger watched them with intense, blue, ancient eyes, before entering the cycle shop.

 

The Doctor smiled to himself as he adjusted the controls of the TARDIS. He had seen Rose Tyler again, she was 12 years old, and it was Christmas day. He had been on the roof of the flats opposite and had used his digitally enhanced binoculars to look in through the window of their flat. He had seen Rose jumping up and down in excitement and hugging her Mum around the neck. Jackie just looked baffled at the label tied to the red bike. 'To Rose, Merry Christmas, from Santa', is all it said.

 

Why did he keep visiting this human female? They had met, their time lines intertwined, he saved her life, she saved his, and he asked her to come with him, she said no, end of.

 

['But it isn't the end of, is it?'] The TARDIS hummed in his head. ['You thought she would say yes, you hoped she would say yes.']

 

The Old Girl was right of course, he did want her to come with him, because he didn't have anyone anymore. No more planet, no more home, no more family.... no more. That phrase echoed through his memories, he was sure he'd heard it before, but it was one of those annoying memories that scurries away as soon as you pay it any attention.

 

Rose Tyler, on the other hand had everything. She had a boyfriend (even if he was useless in a crisis), she had a home, she had a family (all be it a small one). All in all, she had a fantastic, ordinary life, and who could blame her for clinging on to that, he certainly wished he could cling on to something like that.

 

He shook his head to shake off this maudlin mood. "So where are we going now then old girl?" he asked the time rotor as it pumped up and down. He looked at the display, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "That's interesting; but these readings can't be right, not for that time period.... Oh, fantastic, the conspiracy theorists never saw that one coming."

 

 

** Dealey ** ** Plaza ** ** ,  ** ** Dallas ** ** ,  ** ** Texas ** ** ,  ** ** United States of America ** **. **

 

** Friday, November 22, 1963 ** **. **

 

 

The Doctor was standing on Main Street in the crowd of people watching the President's motorcade going past. Most people were looking excitedly at the open topped limo to get a glimpse of the attractive and charismatic couple. Not the Doctor though, he was looking straight at the Dallas Morning News photographer, Walt Cisco, knowing that this would be one of the last photographs taken of President Kennedy.

 

Once the motorcade had passed, he made his way across Main Street, and headed down Houston Street towards the Texas School Book Depository.

  


 

The Doctor made his way down the street, behind the crowds that were lining the route. He could see the motorcade was approaching the junction up ahead, and about to turn left onto Elm Street. In less than a minute, the world would change forever, and it was one of those fixed moments that he couldn't interfere with.

 

There was something he could do though, he could find the real assassin and find out what they were up to. He wondered if the patsy, Lee Harvey Oswald was a willing participant, or if he'd been manipulated or had his brain tampered with.

 

CRACK!

 

The first shot rang out and echoed around the Plaza, a few old soldiers flinched as they recognised the sound of a high powered rifle, but most of the crowd were blissfully unaware of what had just occurred.

 

CRACK.... CRACK.

 

Two more shots rang out, and the crowd started to panic as they realised what was happening. The Doctor ignored the shots and the crowds; he had a building to get to so that he could wait for the gunman. He made it to the Book Depository and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. He didn't have long to wait before Oswald exited the building, and he started to follow him down the street.

 

When Oswald stopped at the bus stop, he came and stood beside him. There was a quiet 'boing' noise from inside his leather jacket that made him raise his eyebrows.

 

"Afternoon," the Doctor said cheerfully. "There seems to have been a bit of a ruckus in the Plaza."

 

"Really? I hadn't noticed, I'm in a bit of a hurry," Oswald said, looking hurriedly for the bus, which he spotted a block away.

 

"Lunch break I suppose, there's never enough time, is there?"

 

They stood in silence, waiting for the bus, and then boarded, with the Doctor following Oswald, who made his way half way down and took a window seat. The Doctor sat next to him, which Oswald was obviously nervous about, as there were plenty of other seats he could have taken.

 

'Boing'. There was that odd noise again from inside the Doctor's jacket.

 

"Oops, there it goes again," he said with a smile. "Do you know what that means?" He asked. Oswald shook his head. "It means I've gotcha."

 

Oswald gulped. "What do you mean, 'got me'?"

 

The Doctor reached inside his jacket pocket and took out an oversized pocket calculator.

 

"I'm sure I don't know what you are on about."

 

"Of course you do." The Doctor pressed the CE button on the calculator and it went 'boing' again.

 

“What? Who are you, and what is that thing?” Oswald asked in an annoyed tone.

 

The Doctor gave him a grin. “Me? I’m the Doctor, and this is a gadget that goes ‘boing’ when it detects off world DNA…. It also tells the time on a dozen worlds, and somehow sets the timer on the video recorder. That was a bit unexpected that one, not quite sure how it does it to be honest.”

 

Oswald was looking decidedly uncomfortable and edgy.

 

‘Boing’. “Ah, here we are then, not a shimmer that must mean…. Oh yes, of course, the best chameleons in the galaxy…. You’re a Zygon.”

 

“I…. I don’t know what you mean; I’m an American, not some foreigner.”

 

The Doctor ignored his protests of innocence. “The question is; why did you want the President dead? Was it because he proposed to put a human on the moon I wonder? Have you got a forward base of operations on the moon, ready for an invasion? Because, if it was, then you’ve completely misunderstood these humans. This will make them even more determined to get to the moon.”

 

The Doctor thought about this and then shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be that, because the Russians are trying to get to the moon as well. It would have to be something else, something that would benefit the Zygons at the expense of the human race.”

 

The Doctor’s brow furrowed in concentration as he recalled the history that he had studied at college on Gallifrey. ‘The Earth’, had been the thesis for one of his doctorates. The title had been, ‘Humans, the hope and despair of the galaxy’, and had seen the human race as both intrepid explorers and a plague of vermin.

 

That was probably what kept him coming back to this insignificant rock in a backwater arm of the galaxy. Humans were capable of unselfish acts of altruism, where curiosity and the thirst for knowledge could be more important than life itself. They were also capable of acts of such ferocious, barbaric violence, that you wondered how they had got this far without annihilating themselves.

 

“Hah! That’s it. You want to destabilise the status quo between the two superpowers. You were hoping the October Crisis last year would lead to mutually assured destruction, but it didn’t work did it?”

 

The Doctor remembered what he had learned about Lee Harvey Oswald, who had been a former U.S. Marine who defected to the Soviet Union in October 1959. He lived in the Soviet Union until June 1962, at which time he returned to the United States. Oswald was initially arrested for the murder of police officer J. D. Tippit, who would be killed in approximately 45 minutes time. Oswald would later be charged with the assassination of President Kennedy as well but denied shooting anybody.

 

Oswald gave him a sharp look; the Doctor had hit the nail on the head. “So, who ever you are, you find a disillusioned American who is a communist, and set him up for the assassination of his leader. You, as him, tell the world that the Russian government set it all up, and then sit back and watch as the world falls apart in a nuclear war.”

 

Oswald stood up and pushed past the Doctor who was still sitting. "I'm getting off this bus, you're mad."

 

The Doctor cheerfully waved the 'calculator that goes boing' at him. "See you later." The calculator went 'boing' again, and he looked at it with a frown and thumped the side of it. Oswald got off the bus and hailed a taxicab. The Doctor leisurely stood and walked to the front, showing the driver his psychic paper. The driver looked at the paper and his eyes went wide.

 

"I need to get off here," the Doctor told him.

 

"Yessir," the driver said, pulling up and opening the doors, when a Secret Service agent says he needs to get off a bus, you didn't argue.

 

The Doctor knew where Oswald was heading; he was going to his rooming house, at 1026 North Beckley Avenue. He walked onto the sidewalk and looked for what he needed, and there it was, a patrol car coming down the street. He raised his arm with the wallet of psychic paper and flagged down the car.

 

The officer inside rolled down the window. "Have you heard the news?" The Doctor asked him.

 

"Yes sir," the patrolman answered, thinking he was talking to agent John Smith of the Secret Service.

 

"I was tailing a suspect on the bus, but he made me and jumped off. I need a lift to North Beckley Avenue, where he lives."

 

"Of course sir, jump in."

 

The Doctor ran around to the passenger side and jumped in. "What's your name son," the Doctor asked with a smile.

 

"Tippit sir, but they call me JD."

 

Oh no, the Doctor mentally groaned, he was responsible for J.D Tippit being on North Beckley Avenue when Oswald, or the Zygon, came out of the rooming house. This poor patrolman had about 30 minutes to live. "Nice to meet you JD, I'm called The Doctor."

 

Tippit pulled away and switched on the blue flashing light to hasten their progress through the traffic. They made their way along West Commerce Street over the Trinity River, and then headed south down North Beckly Avenue towards Oswald’s rooming house.

 

When he got to within half a mile of the house, the Doctor asked Tippit to pull over. “You can drop me off here JD; I can take it from here.” The Doctor got out of the patrol car and started to walk down the street, counting the house numbers as he went. He had counted a few ahead, and spotted the house that he wanted.

 

They were single story houses along this part of the Avenue, and he made his way around the back of the next door neighbour, looking over the fence, before climbing over into the backyard of 1026. He crouched down and carefully made his way to a window at the back of the house. Peeping into the first window, he saw a bedroom that was empty. Still crouched, he made his way to the next window and peeped in and quickly ducked down again, putting his hand over his jacket where the calculator went 'boing'.

 

"Shhhh," he admonished the helpful gadget. He had seen Zygon-Oswald putting a revolver in the back of his waistband and pulling on a jacket. He knew it was the Zygon, because the real Lee Harvey Oswald was on the bed, covered in a thick web of organic strands. He took a stethoscope out of his 'larger on the inside' pocket and gently placed it on the window.

 

"So Mr. Oswald, you finally got your wish to be famous and notorious, by becoming America's most wanted. I will go and get myself arrested, after putting up a fight of course, make a statement that it was all planned by the Russians, and then escape by way of teleport, leaving you to be found and put in the gas chamber. Enjoy what's left of your short life."

 

The Doctor heard the door open and close, followed by the front door. He popped his head up above the sill and looked in; the room was empty, all except for the cocooned body of Oswald. He put the stethoscope away, took out his sonic screwdriver, and 'sonicked' the latch on the window, before lifting it and climbing inside.

 

He made his way over to the bed and started to pull the tendrils off Oswald, who started to cough and splutter as he regained consciousness.

 

“What the hell’s going on, and who the hell are you?” he wheezed as he sat up.

 

“I’m the Doctor, and you’ve been set up to take the fall for the assassination of President Kennedy. You need to get out of here.”

 

“What?” Oswald got off the bed and moved quickly to a chest of draws, opening the top drawer and rummaging through the clothes. He took out a revolver, flipped out the cylinder, and checked that the chambers were loaded.

 

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asked him incredulously. “You don’t need that; you just need to get out of here.”

 

SMACK. Oswald swung his arm around and caught the Doctor on the temple with the handle of the revolver. The Doctor’s knees buckled and he sagged to the floor, rolling on to his back, groaning.

 

Oswald started to search his pockets that were impossibly big. He found a pocket book sized device with numeric keys on it. Pocket calculators wouldn’t be invented for another ten years, and certainly not one that had been modified to detect aliens. He found something that looked like a novelty pen, and the wallet of psychic paper, which he opened.

 

“Hah! Secret Service, I knew it.” Oswald threw the wallet on the Doctor’s chest, put the gun in his waistband, put on his jacket, and climbed out of the window. The Doctor rolled on to his side, reached up to the bed, and pulled himself on to his knees.

 

“Urgh, why do these things have to get so complicated?” He asked himself, as he rubbed the side of his head. He felt sick to the stomach, not from the blow to the head, but from the knowledge that the Zygon-Oswald would kill a police officer just to make his arrest look realistic. He shook his head to clear the fuzziness, and filled his pockets with the items that Oswald had removed.

 

He knew he had to get to the Texas Theatre, where the Zygon or Oswald would be hiding. Things were getting a bit wibbly-wobbly now, and he wasn’t sure who was who in the historical account of Oswald’s arrest.

 

While the Doctor was making his way to the cinema, Oswald was seen acting suspiciously, "ducking into" the entrance alcove of a shoe store. The manager of the store followed Oswald as he continued up the street and saw him slip into the nearby Texas Theatre without paying. He approached the theatre's ticket clerk in the booth.

 

“Excuse me, I’ve just seen a man acting suspiciously outside my store, and followed him here. I think he just went inside without paying, I’ve got a feeling that he’s hiding from the police, he might even be the man who shot the President.”

 

“Oh my God, I heard about that on the radio, I can’t believe it,” the clerk said.

 

“I think we should call the police,” the shoe store manager suggested. “I’ll go in and see if I can spot him.”

 

“Be careful.” The clerk left the ticket booth and went to the office to call 911.

 

A few minutes later, the police arrived, and the house lights were brought up. The shoe store manager pointed out Oswald sitting near the rear of the theatre. When the Police Officer reached Oswald, he said "Well, it's all over now." He had nothing to lose, he had been set up for an assassination that he would have liked to have done, but didn't get the chance.

 

Oswald pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the Officer, who rushed forward and grabbed the gun just as Oswald pulled the trigger. Fortunately, if not painfully, the hammer of the gun hit the web of skin between the thumb and index finger of his hand as he grabbed the pistol.

 

Oswald put up a struggle, but was eventually subdued by the officer and put under arrest. As he was led from the theatre, he shouted he was a victim of police brutality. The shoe store manager had a self satisfied smile on his face, aware that he had been instrumental in the arrest of the President's assassin, when he heard a muffled 'boing', behind him.

 

He felt the muzzle of a gun in his lower back and a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Hello again," a northern English accent said. "Remember me? Into the restroom, NOW." The shoe store manager was pushed in the direction of a door with the stick figure of a man on it. He felt the back of his jacket being lifted up and his revolver being taken out of the back of his waistband. He was pushed roughly through the door, and turned around to see who had forced him in here.

 

He saw the man from the bus, holding an oversized, novelty pen with a blue light on the end, which he had thought was a gun. Talking of guns, he was pointing the revolver at his head.

 

"Wha.... what's going on, are you that man's friend or something? I was only doing my civic duty," he blurted out, the look in the man's eyes making his blood run cold. Without breaking eye contact, the man pointed the novelty pen at the door, which made a warbling whistle, causing the door lock to click.

 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't use this right now," the Doctor said with a trembling voice, his eyes flashing with the fury of the oncoming storm. "You couldn't leave it and go, could you? You had to carry on until someone else was needlessly killed to fulfil your pathetic little plan."

 

The shoe store manager raised his hands. "I don't know what you mean; I followed that man from my store when I saw him acting suspiciously."

 

The Doctor reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out the pocket calculator and thrust it at arms length towards the shoe store manager. It went 'boing' in accusation. "Drop the disguise.... now," the Doctor growled in a low, menacing voice. "Or I'll shoot you where you stand, because I gave you your chance on the bus, and you didn't take it."

 

The man rolled his head, stretching his neck, his features melting and transforming. His face reddened and his head started to swell, taking on a conical shape with suckers.

 

“So who was that man you copied?” The Doctor asked, scowling at the Zygon.

 

“He’s the manager of a shoe store where I saw Oswald sneaking around. I went through the deliveries door at the back of the store and found him in the stockroom.”

 

“Well, at least you didn’t kill him, but I suspect that’s only because you need him alive so that you can copy him. If I let you go, how many more of these humans are you going to kill?”

 

“As many as are necessary for our survival. We are refugees; our world was destroyed in a war between the Daleks of Skaro and the Time Lords of Gallifrey. Have you heard of the Time War?”

 

The Doctor’s expression turned from anger and hate, to sadness and regret. He lowered the gun, his arm hanging loosely by his side. Heard of it, he’d fought in it, for more years than he cared to remember, and of course he’d finished it. This Zygon was just another victim of the Time War. Collateral damage the strategists called it, it was easier to say than ‘innocent victim, who had nothing to do with the fighting’.

 

“There is no more Time War, no more fighting, no more killing…. I made sure of that,” he told the Zygon.

 

‘No more’.

 

The Zygon looked astonished by this admission. “What…. but how?”

 

“I was there at the fall of Arcadia; I saw there was no way for either side to win the war, without destroying the galaxy, so I ended it.”

 

‘No more’.

 

His memories came flooding back, the ones he had been trying to forget, because as the warrior, it was a clinical, military decision, without emotion or feeling. ‘Time Lords of Gallifrey, Daleks of Skaro, I serve notice on you all. Too long I have stayed my hand. No more. Today you leave me no choice. Today, this war will end. No more. No more.’

 

Now, as the Doctor, the man who’s supposed to make things better, these memories cut him to the very core of his being, torturing him, as the people on Gallifrey were tortured as they burned with their planet. But unlike them, who only experienced the briefest of pain before dissolving into atoms, he survived to remember what he had done.

 

‘Then that's your punishment. If you do this, if you kill them all, then that's the consequence. You live.’ He could remember a voice, a female, but that was all, he presumed it was the TARDIS, but now, he wasn’t sure.

 

“Then you are a Time Lord? I was told that you all perished,” the Zygon said, bringing him out of his memories.

 

“That was my intention, but some how I was forced to survive, and now I’m here, and if I survived for a purpose, then let that purpose be that I can protect this world.” The fire was back in his soul, not the fire of destruction, but the fire of restitution, he could do things to try and make amends, a penance.

 

On that day, it wasn’t possible to get it right, on this day though, he could get it right. He straightened his body and stared at the Zygon with icy blue eyes. “Zygons, formerly of the planet Zygor, I am the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords of Gallifrey. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your home, but this world is inhabited, and today, it is under my protection. I am giving you the opportunity to leave now, and I would say never return….” He knew that they would be back in about ten years, where he, Sarah Jane and U.N.I.T would do battle with them in Scotland. “.... But I know you’ll be back, so I’ll just say ‘au revoir’, and ‘see you in ten years’,” he said with a cheery voice and a smile.

 

“What, and that’s it, you’re letting me go, just like that?” the Zygon asked, expecting some sort of trap.

 

It was at this point that the Doctor realised that he was back to his old self, because even in this serious situation, he had to suppress the urge to do a Tommy Cooper impersonation. “No, of course it’s not ‘just like that’, it’s after weighing up the alternatives, and believe me, you really don’t want to know what those are. I tried genocide once, and I don’t much fancy having to do it again, so if I were you, I’d run…. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back, because I’ll be there, looking over your shoulder.”

 

The Doctor turned to the door and ‘sonicked’ the lock, before pulling the door open and leaving the Zygon in stunned silence. He made his way through the foyer and out onto the street, where he saw a number of police officers milling about, doing the things policemen do at the scene of a crime. He went over to a patrol car and leaned in through the driver's window, showing his psychic paper to the patrolman.

 

“Agent Smith; I need a lift back to DealyPlaza, y’know, back to the scene.”

 

The patrolman nodded. “Of course sir, I understand. Hop in; I’ll take you over there.”

  
“Thank you.” The Doctor straightened up and walked around the car. He could have walked back to the TARDIS, but he’d had enough of Dallas for one day.

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! The Doctor goes back to ask Rose again. The second part of this chapter contains text from the story THE BEAST OF BABYLON, by Charlie Higson, which was commisioned for the 50th celebrations.

****

** Chapter 5 **

  


Rose Tyler roused sluggishly from her slumber, and instinctively reached across the bed to hug her lover. She was hoping for another fantastic shag that would really wake her up and start her day off on the right foot. The birthday party gig last night at the community centre had gone really well, and Jimmy had met that woman again whose uncle owned a recording studio in Amsterdam. It wouldn’t be long now before his band hit the big time, and they would be living the rock and roll lifestyle that he kept promising her.

 

Instead of hugging her lover though, all she got was his pillow, and she realised that she was alone in their love nest. This had been happening more and more often, as Jimmy got excited about getting into a studio and recording an album. She had to admit that his excitement was infectious, because she couldn’t wait to start living the high life. She rolled onto her back in frustration and smiled as she thought about the last six months.

She had first met Stone at the end of term school disco, where a group of former pupils had formed a band, and had been hired to play. He was the lead guitarist, and Rose had been star struck by his ‘boy band’ good looks. Her attention had stroked his inflated ego, and a pretty blonde on his arm would be good for his rock star image.

 

Her childhood sweetheart, Mickey Smith had been gutted when she left her mum’s flat on the Powell estate and moved into Stone’s bed-sit a month later. Her mum was none too pleased either, predicting that it would all end in tears.

 

“Oh Rose, you’re a clever girl, and your A levels are important Love. D’ya want to be stuck in a dead end job for the rest of yer life?” Jackie had asked her, trying to make her see sense, as her daughter packed to leave. “I wanted so much more for you Sweetheart.”

 

“But we love each other Mum, and I want to be with ‘im. You wait ‘til he gets a recordin’ contract, we’ll be tourin’ the world,” she had forecast. ‘The only record he’ll have is a police one’, Jackie thought, which, unknowingly was another accurate prediction on her part (2-0 to Jackie so far).

 

Rose yawned and stretched, before quickly trotting naked across the bed-sit and into the bathroom. She was trotting not because she was worried about being seen naked; there was no one else there. No, the fact was the bed-sit was cold, due to the fact that they couldn’t really afford to heat it all the time.

 

She wrapped a bath towel around her shoulders and turned on the shower over the bath. She heard the gas boiler kick in with a ‘whump’, and a minute later, hot water was pouring out of the shower head. She made appreciative groaning noises as the hot water cascaded over her body, and she rubbed the shower gel into her hair.

 

Wrapped in the bath towel, with a towel ‘turban’, and warm, fluffy slippers, she padded over to the kitchen area of the bed sit to switch the kettle on and make some toast. She pressed the play button on the cassette player, and listened to a recording the band had made on an ordinary cassette recorder. It was low fidelity, but she could hear the tune, and Jimmy’s voice singing the lyrics.

 

“Dah-dat-dar, dat-dar-dat-dar,” she sang to the beat, while playing air guitar and mimicking Jimmy as he would strut his stuff on stage.

 

“Oh girl I love you so mu-u-uch,” she sang to the chorus. “Yeah girl I love you so muuuuuch.” He told her that she had inspired that song, and it gave her a warm feeling below the waist when she thought about that.

 

The kettle clicked off, and she poured the boiling water into her mug with the tea bag, before the toaster popped up, which she spread with a soft, butter-like spread. She took her mug and small plate over to the table and sat down to have her breakfast. There were a number of envelopes on the table, and she picked them up to inspect them. She knew that they would either be bills, asking for their money, or mail shots, selling services or products that were also asking for their money.

 

As she put the envelopes back on the table, she noticed that the electricity bill had some writing on the back of it in Jimmy’s untidy scrawl. She smiled at the thought of one of his hastily written declarations of love for her. However, the smile slowly faded as she read the words on the envelope. She tried to read them again, but the tears filling her eyes made it difficult.

 

‘Sweetheart, Noosh has managed to get me some time in her uncle’s studio. We’re taking the campervan on the ferry to Amsterdam. Not sure when we’ll be back.’

 

Noosh….? Noosh….? He’s taken this woman Noosh to Amsterdam? Why didn’t he take me with him? All sorts of answers to that question were rolling around her head, and the most obvious was that he’d dumped her and taken off with that trollop Noosh. And the thing that made her feel sick to her stomach was that she had liked Noosh on the few occasions that she’d met her.

 

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, and read the note again, it said that he was going to Amsterdam, what about the band? She went over to the phone on the sideboard and found Eddy the bass player's number on the jotter pad. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the numbers on the keypad.

 

“‘Ello,” the soft, low voice of Eddy said.

 

“Eddy? It’s Rose, Jimmy’s Rose.”

 

“(Who is it honey), it’s Rose…. (Oh)” That was Steph in the background, and she sounded like she knew something bad was going down.

 

“Eddy, Jimmy’s gone, and all I’ve got is a note to say he’s gone to Amsterdam. What’s happenin’ with the band?”

 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Er…. I take it he didn’t talk to you about leavin’ the band and goin’ solo then.”

 

“Goin’ solo, what the hell are ya talkin’ about?” Rose asked, dread rising in her chest.

 

“The bastard! He said he was goin’ to sit down with you when you got back from the gig last night and tell you about it,” Eddy said quietly, slightly embarrassed at being the one who had to tell her the news.

 

Rose started to cry. “No, he lay down with me, shagged me, and then buggered off without sayin’ a word. All I got was a note scrawled on the back of an envelope, how romantic was that?”

 

“I’m sorry Rose; I thought you knew what he was like. When he was at school, he had a string of girlfriends; I think he saw it as collecting trophies. I’m really, really sorry Love, you’re such a nice person, I thought he’d left his old ways behind him.”

 

Rose was really sobbing now.

 

“(Eddy, does she want us to come over), Steph wants to know if you want us to come over?”

 

“No,” she sobbed. “Thanks, but no. I’ll ring Mum….”

 

“Okay Rose, you take care now. If you need anythin’, give us a call, an’ I’m really sorry.”

 

“Yeah, thanks Eddy, say hello to Steph for me, bye.”

 

She went over to the bed and collapsed onto it in a fit of sobs.

 

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

There she was, just walking across the pedestrian area between the flats. She had a large rucksack on her back, and was trailing a wheeled suitcase behind her. The Doctor increased the zoom on his digital binoculars to try and see her face. Oh dear, she looked decidedly unhappy and had obviously been crying.

 

She had finally finished with that waster Jimmy Stone after

a five month tumultuous affair, which the Doctor was desperate to interfere with and stop, but that would have meant that she wouldn’t have left school before sitting her A levels, wouldn’t have got a job at Henrick’s, and would never have met him.

 

Unbeknown to the Doctor, a handsome man in an RAF uniform had shadowed Rose as she left the flat and moved into the dingy bed-sit, watching over her like a guardian angel, not interfering, but just making sure that she came to no harm. Just like the Doctor, this stranger knew that interfering with timelines was a dangerous thing.

 

Well, when he said not interfering, there was that one time at a gig, when a fight broke out. The stranger had rendered a member of the audience unconscious and relieved him of the switchblade in his pocket, which he would have used to put an unattractive scar across Rose’s beautiful cheek.

 

And now, five months later, here she was coming home, wiser and poorer for the experience. Stone had asked for a sub for petrol, so that they could get to the gigs, and a sub for a round at the pub, and a sub to order a pizza. The savings that her Granddad Prentice had left her, had very nearly all gone, and so had Stone.

 

The Doctor watched her pull open the security door to the flats and disappear inside. She would struggle up the stairs to her mum’s flat, and be welcomed back with ‘I told you so’, a hug, and a cup of tea. He was about to put his binoculars away, when something caught his eye. He focussed across the pedestrian area, and saw a young man in a black, padded jacket heading for Bucknall House. It was Mickey Smith, and he was ready and willing to pick up with Rose again.

 

Mickey had suddenly gone up in the Doctor’s estimation of him. There weren’t many men who, after being dumped by their girlfriend, would come running back the moment she realised she’d been a silly girl. He might not be any good in a crisis, but he was a true, reliable friend, and that counts for a lot. He stood up, collapsed his binoculars, and put them inside his leather jacket. He walked across the roof and opened the door of the TARDIS, before stepping inside.

 

Studying Rose Tyler, he was starting to get a feeling for her reluctance to leave her flat and her life behind. A disastrous affair with a man who had betrayed her, had made her wary of trusting strangers, and to be honest, there were none much stranger than him.

 

Her mum had readily taken her back, and she would feel a debt of gratitude for that, which would make her reluctant to leave her mum again. And then there was Mickey, who like a loving puppy, had been only too happy to have her back again. No wonder she said no, she was full of guilt for leaving in the first place. He would have to offer her something that would free her from that guilt; he would have to think about that.

 

On the roof of a block of flats, opposite Bucknall House, and adjacent to the flats where the Doctor was stationed, a handsome man in an RAF uniform, put his off world, digital scope in his pocket and headed for the door to the stairwell. Had he waited another minute, he would have heard a familiar sound, a sound that he desperately wanted to hear, because he desperately wanted to meet the Doctor again, even if at this moment in time, he wouldn’t have a clue who Jack Harkness was.

 

 

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

 

 

‘What is this place?’ the newly born being thought to itself, not realising what a difficult question that was to answer. Which place in particular, in which of the many dimensions it inhabited was it talking about?

 

It didn’t know that the Time Lords of Gallifrey called it a Starman, a cosmic being with primitive consciousness. They could travel through space and time on the energy they received from eating stars, and sometimes, if you were unlucky, they would escape from their own time and go trampling through existence, wiping it clean and rewriting history, rewriting the laws of science itself.

 

They’re dangerous entities, born when stars collapse, when they become black holes and white dwarfs and red dwarfs and wormholes. When they collapse they alter the shape of space and they alter the shape of time, and sometimes a Starman is created. Primitive societies call them gods, and it was always one of the duties of the Time Lords to police the universe and snap the cuffs on them when they popped up where they shouldn’t.

 

The distortion of space-time that had created it in the collapse of the white dwarf, had deposited one of it’s transdimensional facets in a galactic ‘crossroads’, near a planet called Karkinos, and it was hungry, Karkinos would make a nice snack.

 

There was only one problem with that, Karkinos was a busy, teeming metropolis of a planet, a sort of galactic Constantinople, and there was a man in a blue, wooden box who was going to keep it that way. He had a weapon, no; it was more of a tool, a silver orb with the power of a collapsed star in it. It was made by a very clever, and not very nice, character called the Exalted Holgoroth of All Tagkhanastria. The Doctor had stolen his orb right out from under his nose (but that was another story).

 

The Doctor used the orb to send the Starman into the twenty-sixth dimension, where he’d be safely out of the way for a while. ‘Can’t do much damage – space and time’s always been a right mess in there’, he’d told Ali, a young Karkinian girl. ‘Might even sort things out a bit. Who knows?’

 

The problem was, there was a side-effect of using the orb. Unforeseen consequences. It turned out the magic orb was not as special as the Holgoroth claimed. “Should have read the small print – ‘This item may not work as advertised!’” he told Ali.

 

There was another Starman, a worse one, a more powerful one, heading for Earth, and the Doctor needed to stop it. In fact, it was probably already there.

 

“Can’t you just do what you did with the twins and grab it before it arrives?” Ali asked. The Starman on Karkinos had appeared as a giant man, taller than any building on the planet. And because he was transdimensional, there appeared to be two of him, in fact, there were hundreds of him, in hundreds of dimensions.

 

“No. That’s the thing. Me and this new Starman exist in the same time stream, until I send this new Starman packing, the two of us have a time tag on us. We’re linked.”

 

And so, the Doctor followed the new Starman to Babylon, four thousand years before he’d met Rose Tyler. Why did he think about her again? Oh yes, that was because the young Karkinian, Ali, had invited herself on board and like a typical teenage girl was asking him all about Rose, who she accused him of being in love with.

 

To say she was a typical teenage girl was pushing it a bit. She stood a whole head taller than any man, and there was something of a beetle about her and something of a crab or a crayfish from the river. She had six legs but only stood on four. Her segmented body was arched backwards so that her two front legs were held up and out like arms, one of them ending in a huge knobbled claw. She had a head of sorts with four black bead-like eyes, and a gaping hole in the centre of her face, filled with row upon row of tiny sharp jagged teeth, surrounded by waving feelers that seemed to claw at the air.

 

But the Doctor was never one to judge someone on their appearance, she was smart, quick witted, unfazed by a ship that was bigger on the inside, and had all the makings of an excellent companion…. that was, except for her physiology.

 

When humans had adrenalin coursing through their veins, it elicited the ‘fright, flight, or fight’ response in their bodies. When the equivalent of adrenalin coursed through Karkinian’s veins, it elicited the ‘maim, kill, destroy’ response. Rational thought would disappear in a puff of anger, and they would go berserk, and the females were worse than the males.

 

When they arrived in ancient Babylon, the Doctor had told Ali to stay in the TARDIS, while he went and sorted out the Starman when he arrived. How many times had he said ‘stay here’, in his considerable lifetime? He should have it printed on a T-shirt for all the good it would do.

 

The Babylonians, not unreasonably, he thought, had come to the conclusion that he was the threat from the heavens, and attempted to sacrifice him to appease the gods. Ali had got a bit upset about this and the red fog of Karkinian equivalent adrenalin had caused her to leave the TARDIS, and a trail of destruction, behind her.

 

The Doctor was convinced that he could have talked his way out of having one of his hearts cut out, but was grateful anyway for Ali’s help, if not upset about the carnage she had caused. It wasn’t her fault, it was just the way her body’s physiology worked, and if it was anybody’s fault, it was his for bringing her along. After all, he knew what Karkinians were like.

 

Ali had brought the orb with her when she left the TARDIS, and the Doctor had ridden on her back as she leapt on to the Starman, so that he could throw the orb into its mouth, banishing it into one of the multitude of dimensions it existed in. That done, it was time to do what the Doctor did best; clear off and let the locals clean up the mess he left behind, although this time, most of the mess was Ali’s doing.

 

Having returned to Karkinos to take Ali home, the Doctor stood in the doorway of the TARDIS. She could tell he was anxious to be gone. This was difficult for him, saying goodbye.

 

“Where will you go now?” she asked.

 

“Wherever I’m needed, I suppose.”

 

“You are so pompous.”

 

He gave a single laugh. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” There was that mad grin of his, the one she’d grown to love. “One man – off to save the universe!”

 

“Alone again, or …?”

 

“Alone for now.” An oversized cockroach-crayfish with a bloodlust would take a bit of getting over.

 

Ali moved closer to him, her feet sinking into the soft mud. How good it felt: cool and moist and full of life. “You know that girl,” she said. “The one you were telling me about? Rose Tyler?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“You should try again. Now you’re free of the time tag.”

 

“I gave it my best, Ali. This life wasn’t for her.” He had thought of nothing else since she had said ‘no’, that’s why he’d been visiting her, trying to work out why she had been reluctant to come with him, and it was her complicated past that stopped her.

 

“I didn’t have you down as a quitter, Doctor.”

 

“It’s too late.”

 

“Ha! You’re a Time Lord!” Ali laughed at him. “How can anything be too late? I thought time had no meaning in your infinite, immortal, immaterial box of tricks. Too late, indeed. You just get back there.”

 

“Ali …” he started to protest.

 

“No, listen. Us girls, we might all look different, but we’re pretty similar underneath. We like to appear responsible, to do what’s expected of us, we’re not supposed to be reckless and wild and go running off with dodgy space tramps like you. But give us a nudge and –”

 

“Ali –” She didn’t realise that Rose had already run off with a dodgy tramp once, and it had hurt her.

 

“No. You go straight back there now and you ask her again. But you’ve got to offer her more than just – well – you. I mean, you’re a Time Lord, but you’re not all that. Sell it to her.”

 

Now the Doctor laughed.

 

“That’s why I need a companion,” he said. “To keep my feet on the ground, and my head out of the clouds. To keep me from myself. It’s people like Rose, and crustaceans like you, Ali, who keep me going, who remind me that it’s not all over and it’s not all about me. My people may have gone, but you have your people … and Hammurabi had his people, and everyone has their own people. And every one of them is precious.”

 

“Go on then,” said Ali. “What are you waiting for? We’re done here. Hurry back. And don’t mess up this time. She sounds very special, your Rose.”

 

“Oh, she is. I really think she is.” He’d felt it when he took her hand and told her to run.

 

They said their goodbyes, and the Doctor turned and entered the TARDIS, walking up the ramp to the console and activating the door lock mechanism. He selected the 3-dimensional spatial coordinates from the destination history menu. He was going back to somewhere he had been before, and he wanted to get it ‘spot on’.

 

He also selected the temporal coordinates from the history menu, he was going to land a few seconds after he had left, and he felt that the TARDIS was going to do her best to get it right.

 

He powered up the atom accelerator, released the time rotor handbrake, activated the inertial dampers, engaged the harmonic generator, released the locking down mechanism, pulled the engine release lever, activated the materialise/dematerialise function, and gradually increased the space-time throttle as the time rotor started to pump up and down, taking him into the Vortex.

 

He checked, and double-checked his time readings, his place readings, and his face in the mirror. Practised a smile, a serious look, a sad face … settled on the smile, or at least the closest thing to a genuine human smile that he could manage. He took one last look around the TARDIS, made sure the old girl was looking – how would Rose put it? – Awesome.

 

Yes. She was looking well awesome.

 

He gradually decreased the space-time throttle and activated the harmonic generator to stop the TARDIS from drifting as it materialized. He activated the materialise/dematerialise function and felt the TARDIS gently caress the ground of planet Earth, and relished the familiar scraping noise of the TARDIS doing her thing.

 

Then all was silent. He put the engine to sleep, closed down the systems, and set the lights to an attractive warm orange glow. He realised he was still grinning and it was starting to hurt his face. Not long now. He took a deep breath and strode over to the door. Pulled it open.

He’d timed it just right. Rose was almost exactly where he’d left her, there, standing with Mickey, who was looking more than a little confused.

 

He grinned wider at Rose, relishing her surprise. He was a cheap magician sometimes, but it worked.

 

“By the way,” he said. “Did I mention? It also travels in time.”

 

And he stepped back inside, leaving the door open. Was it enough? Rose wasn’t the type to fall for a hard sell, but had he undersold it? He reckoned that after all she’d been through in her nineteen years, if she knew she could come back to this point in time and space, and pick up where she had left off, and then she might just go for it.

 

From the shadows behind the open door he spied on her. Watched her turn to Mickey and say something, kiss him, and then she was running towards the TARDIS, her hair flying, and he knew that everything was going to be all right.

 

She ran up the slope to the console, and he closed the door behind her. “Right then, Rose Tyler, you tell me. Where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time. It's your choice. What's it going to be?”

 

She had that incredible smile on her face, like she had that Christmas, when she saw that red bike. “Forwards.”

 

“How far?”

 

Wow, she’d never thought about that before, how far should she go? “One hundred years.”

 

He set the temporal coordinates for one hundred years, and powered up the systems, activating the materialise/dematerialise function, and gradually increasing the space-time throttle, causing the time rotor to pump up and down. After a couple of seconds, the time rotor stopped.

 

“There you go. Step outside those doors, it's the twenty second century.”

 

She felt like Marty McFly in Back To The Future. “You're kidding.” If she opened those doors, she would be in her own future. Would she have any children? Grandchildren even?

 

The Doctor brought her out of her musing. “That's a bit boring, though. Do you want to go further?”

 

“Fine by me,” she said with a grin.

 

“Ten thousand years in the future. Step outside, it's the year 12005, the new Roman Empire,” he said with pompous pride, Ali would be clicking her mandibles at him if she were here.

 

“You think you're so impressive,” she said teasingly.

 

“I am so impressive.” He was confident now, she’d come aboard, and he could feel her excitement.

 

“You wish.”

 

That sounded like a challenge. “Right then, you asked for it. I know exactly where to go. Hold on!” The time rotor pumped up and down again, and after a couple of seconds, it stopped. He had a mischievous grin on his face.

  
“Where are we? What's out there?”

 


End file.
